Scars
by purplepagoda
Summary: Tony shows up at her place, unexpectedly. She reveals the heavy burden that she's been carrying. A secret so big, it changes everything. A baby changes everything, especially this one.  Will her secret bring them together of tear them apart? TIVA?
1. Talking About The Past

She sits in her kitchen, in silence. She files through bills, and papers, sorting them into piles. She wears a pair of shorts, and a tank top. It was her day off, and she was organizing her junk drawer. Her right leg is folded under her, on the chair. The other dangles off the chair; over the floor. Her bare foot slowly swings back and forth.

She looks around, at her surroundings. Everything was in its place. She had tidied up, when she got off work, the night before. The dishes were all clean, and put away. The couch cushions were in their place. The coffee table had been dusted. The floor had been swept. The bathroom had been cleaned. Her bed clothes were in the laundry.

She looks past the living room. She sighs, and returns to the task at hand. It was unusually quiet. This wasn't normal. It was Saturday, her day off, but... it was rarely this calm. There was always something going on. A phone ringing. A neighbor making noise. There was always some sort of noise; some sort of distraction. In all fairness it was still early. It was only 0730. Yet, something seemed off. She had a routine, and this was not it.

Her stomach begins to growl, reminding her, that she has not eaten breakfast yet. She pushes the chair out, and moves towards the cabinet. She pulls the door open, and looks at the three boxes of cereal. What was she in the mood for, today? Before she can answer she's interrupted. She turns towards the noise. She closes the cabinet, and swiftly makes her way to the door. She looks through the peephole. She furrows her brow in dissatisfaction, before unchaining the lock. She pulls the door open.

"What are you doing here?"

"I thought that you might be hungry. Have you eaten yet?"

"No. Why are you here?"

"I brought you breakfast," he holds up the bag.

"I can see that. Why did you bring me breakfast?"

"I told you, I thought that you might be hungry."

"Tony, you are talking in circles."

"So are you."

"It's Saturday. It is our day of. Why would you come by, on your day off?"

"I brought you breakfast."

She looks at him, ready to scream in frustration.

"Why did you feel the need to bring me breakfast? Do you have an ulterior motive?"

"I thought that we could talk."

"You're bored?"

"That too."

"It is a little early in the day, to be bored."

"Are you going to invite me in?"

"You came over, unannounced."

"Are you afraid that I might find a dust bunny, or something?"

"I doubt it."

"And why is that?"

"I just finished cleaning."

"What are you doing?" he points to her table.

"Organizing my junk drawer."

"Can I come in, or not?"

"No," she shakes her head.

"No? Why not?"

"Did it ever occur to you, that I may want to keep my private life separate, from my professional life?"

"No. Why, would you want to do that? Do you have something to hide? Something, you don't want me to know about?"

"Everyone is hiding _something_."

"What are you hiding?"

"Now is not a good time. You should not have come."

"Why not? What is going on?"

"Nothing is going on."

"Then why won't you let me come in?"

"Some doors, should remain closed."

"What are you talking about? Ziva, I am just bringing you breakfast. I am not trying to open any doors. Are you afraid of where our conversation might lead?"

"I am afraid of where our conversation may start."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Never mind."

"Ziva I know that there are things you don't tell me. I just want to be your friend."

"You should go," she warns.

"No," he shakes his head.

"No?"

"Lately, I have noticed that your not yourself."

"Maybe I'm not."

"Does this have to do with Prince Charming's departure?"

"No. It is not as if my entire world revolves around him."

"Then what is on your mind?"

"You don't want to know."

"Please, let me come in. What is the worst that could happen?"

"I guess you'll see," she pulls the door open, wide enough for him to come in.

He makes his way, into her kitchen. She closes the door behind him. She collects the papers off the table, and lays them on the counter. She takes a seat at the table, next to him.

"I brought doughnuts."

"Why are you really here?"

"I'm worried about you."

"I am fine."

"You seem tired."

"Is it a crime to be tired?"

"No."

"Is there something that you would like to ask? If there is, you should just ask it."

"Why won't you ever talk to me..."

She cuts him off, before he can finish. "I talk to you, all the time."

"About Somalia."

"There is nothing to talk about."

"There is. You just don't want to talk about it."

"Not with you."

"If I thought that you were talking to someone else, about it, I wouldn't be here."

"You don't need to know."

"I am your partner."

"So?"

"It's my job to help you, if I can."

"You can't help me. No one can help me."

"Please, at least, let me try."

"How are you going to help me?"

"I am going to listen."

"You don't want to listen, believe me."

"Why not?"

She shakes her head. "There is a reason that I haven't discussed this with you."

"And why is that?"

"I was trying to protect you."

"Protect me from what?"

"This mess."

"What mess?"

"The mess, that I call my life."

"What happened, over there?"

"What do you think happened?"

"I wish that I was clueless. I wish that I had no idea. I wish that I was wrong."

"But, you aren't."

"You don't even know what I think."

"I am sure that I do. After almost six years, I know how you think. I know what you are thinking. I know you want me to tell you, that you are wrong. I wish that I could. I cannot tell you that."

"Why not?"

"Because it wouldn't be the truth."


	2. Walls Around The Heart

"Sometimes I look at you, and it's like you're still there. I thought that with time you would move on. I guess I was wrong. It seems like you just keep going back to that place. The look in your eyes, it tells me that you're still in that nightmare. I just want you to wake up. I want the old Ziva back."

"She's gone. She's never coming back. I wish that I could move on. I wish that it was that simple. Everyday, I pray, to wake up to a different life. I do not like being broken. I do not like feeling like a victim."

"You aren't a victim."

"The only difference in a victim, and a survivor, are the voices in their heads."

"Sometimes I feel like you're angry at me, for coming for you."

"Sometimes, I am."

"Is that what you wanted? Do you wish that I had left you there?"

"No," she shakes her head, "I wish that you had come sooner."

"Before you were broken?"

"Before I was broken beyond repair. There is no fixing me."

"Tell me."

"No," she shakes her head.

"Please. Let me in, just this once."

"I can't."

"Are you afraid that I am going to use it against you; to hurt you?"

"No."

"Then what are you afraid of?"

"I am afraid that you will not be able to handle the truth."

"This isn't _A Few Good Men_," he tries to cut the tension.

"No, it is not. My life isn't a movie. It is not that simple. It never will be. It is complicated, and messy."

"Why can't you just tell me? I am not asking you to relive it. You do that, all on your own."

"Only everyday of my life."

"I don't understand."

"Understand what?"

"I don't understand why. Why do you keep punishing yourself? Haven't you paid your debt, already?"

"You will never understand."

"Not if you never let me in."

"I..." she trails off, on the verge of tears.

"Just tell me."

"Why, do you want to know?"

"I can't help you fix anything, if I don't know what's broken."

"You can't help me. I am beyond that."

"Maybe you have given up on yourself, but I am never going to give up on you."

"Why not?" her nostrils flare, "Why, couldn't you just let me die, in that desert? Why, couldn't you just leave me alone?"

"I couldn't let you go, not like that."

"You can't have me back. You are never going to get that person that you knew, back."

"I don't want her."

"What do you want?"

"I just want you to stop."

"Stop? Stop, what?"

"Hating yourself. I don't understand. You can try to deny, but I see it. Everyday, I see it. You don't even want to look at your own reflection in the mirror. Why? You didn't do anything wrong."

"I did everything, wrong. Everything."

"It wasn't your fault."

"I could have chosen differently."

"But you didn't. Now you have to deal with it. If you are ever going to move on. If you are ever going to be happy, you have to."

"I don't deserve to be happy."

"Why not?"

"I..."

"Tell me what happened," he insists.

"You know what happened."

"I want to hear it, from you."

"Why are you bringing this up? After all of this time, why are you bringing it up, now?"

"I wouldn't be, but you are still carrying it around with you. I thought that I would give you time to deal with things. I tried to give you time, and space, but you never dealt with it. You just buried it. You tried to bury it so deep inside of you, that no one would see. You can't bury it that deep, Ziva. You never flinch, when you notice me catch a glimpse of a physical scar. When I look into your eyes, you look away."

"Because the worst scars are the ones you can't see."

"Because they're covered?"

"Because they aren't physical scars."

"Tell me, please."

"I was taught to be fearless. I was taught to be strong. I tried to be strong. Then I realized, I wasn't trying to be strong, I was trying to be invincible. No one is invincible. Everyone has a weakness. I was used to playing in the boys club. I fought, my whole life, to be an equal."

"Ziva," his tone softens.

She looks past him, off into space. Back, in time. She closes her eyes, and pushes the flashback from her memory. She puts it back in it's file, and locks it away. Her gift, was always her curse. A photographic memory, was a great investigative tool. It was a barrier, in trying to overcome trauma. In trying to overcome the past, it was like a scar that would never go away. It was a reminder, of what she fought, every single day, to forget.

"Tell me," he begs.

"Men, an women, are not equal. I should not have attempted to prove that I was better; that I could out fight, thirty men. I should have considered the consequences. That, however, has never been my strong suit. I act, impulsively, I react. Instead of thinking, I just do."

"And?"

"It was a mistake, a terrible mistake."

He looks into her eyes. She doesn't look away. She knows that no matter how long she attempted to dodge eye contact, he would catch her. He would get a glimpse. It was better to let him see. He swallows hard, trying to dance around the edges. He thought it best, to stay on the edge, instead of plowing down the middle.

"How many?" he asks her.

"Times? Or..." she chokes. She clenches her jaws, trying to stop the floodgates from opening.

"Take your time," he tells her.

"I lost count, of how many times. It was every day, often more than once."

"So..."

"It was mostly him, but he knew that he wasn't the only one with needs," she continues, the disgust in her voice is evident.

"You can tell me," he reassures her.

"He let everyone have a turn. Some, more than once."

"Ziva I..."

"Don't say it."

"What do you want me to say?"

She shakes her head, "Nothing. There is nothing, to say." He vacates his seat. He goes over to her, and she stands up. She doesn't resist, as he pulls her into a hug. She clings to him. He can feel the tears through his shirt. He looks at her, just waiting. There was more. There had to be more, or she would have already told him this.


	3. Scars On The Heart

He holds her, and she doesn't flinch. He whispers in her ear, and she doesn't flip out.

"It's ok."

Finally, she exhales. He lets go of her. She wipes away her tears, on the back of her hands. She returns to her seat. Emotionally drained, she motions for him to take a seat. He takes a seat. He places his hand on the table. He slips his, on top of hers. He squeezes it. She looks at him. He looks at her, in confusion, because she stares back at him, with a guilty look.

"There's more."

"More?"

"Something that I never told you. It is something, that you should probably know."

"Ok," he nods.

"I just could never bring myself to tell you; to tell anyone."

"Whatever it is..."

She waves her hand, "You have no idea."

"Why do you look so guilty? Why do you look like you did something wrong?"

"Because I did. I did everything wrong."

"Ziva, what are you talking about?"

"I don't know where to start."

"At the beginning," he suggests.

"I didn't know," she admits.

"Know what?"

"I didn't know," she repeats.

He shakes his head, "Know what?"

"I will never forgive myself, for not knowing. I should have known. I should have..." she stops, swallowing hard.

"Known what? What didn't you know?"

"It took me months to be able to overcome the denial. I didn't want to admit that it happened. I did not want to think about it. I did not want to relive it. I thought that if I admitted what happened, it would make me weak."

"And then?"

"Once I started thinking, semi-clearly, again, I knew that there were some things I needed to do."

He furrows his brow, unsure of what she's trying to tell him.

_Monday January 18th, 2010_

_She sits on a chair, in an exam room. She waits impatiently, for the doctor to come in. She checks her watch every minute, or two. She taps her toe, on the tile. Finally someone knocks on the door. A tall, brunette doctor walks into the room. She smiles at Ziva._

"_How are you?"_

"_I..." she hesitates, "I am a little bit nervous, I guess."_

_The doctor lowers herself onto a stool. She propels herself towards Ziva, with a manila folder. _

"_I got the test results, from the blood draw that you had on Friday."_

"_And?"_

"_You are free, and clear of any STD's."_

"_So, then I am free to go?"_

"_Not exactly."_

"_Is there something else?"_

"_I'd like to do a pelvic exam."_

"_Why?"_

"_It is standard procedure."_

"_Ok," Ziva nods. _

_Ziva stares at the ceiling, as the doctor performs the exam. When she finishes she leaves the room, and allows Ziva to get dressed. She returns a few minutes later. _

"_So is..." Ziva trails off, not sure she wants to know the answer, to her own question._

"_I thought that it would be best to perform the exam, to confirm the lab results, before we discussed them."_

"_I thought that you said everything was fine?"_

"_Everything is fine."_

"_What lab result are you talking about?"_

"_One of your test results came back positive."_

"_I don't understand."_

"_You don't know?" The doctor questions._

"_Know what?"_

"_I take that as a no."_

"_What don't I know? What is going on?"_

"_Can I ask what the circumstances were, that made you decide to..."_

_Ziva cuts her off, "No."_

"_Miss David, you're pregnant."_

_She shakes her head, "No. I think there has been some sort of mistake. I can't be. I haven't..."_

_The doctor cuts her off, "You're about sixteen, to eighteen weeks along. I am surprised that you didn't know."_

"_You're serious?"_

"_Yes," she nods, "I'd like for you to schedule another appointment, within the next couple of weeks, so that we can do an ultrasound."_

"_Ok," she agrees, in complete shock._

"_I wrote you a prescription for pre-natal vitamins."_

"_Ok."_

"_So I'll see you back, soon?"_

"_Uh huh," she nods._

"_Congratulations."_

_The doctor hands her the prescription, and leaves the room. Ziva stares at her purse. She looks at the prescription, in disbelief. She crumples it up, and tosses into the trash can. She gathers her things, and leaves the room. She stops for coffee, on her way to work._

He looks at her, in utter disbelief. He tries to formulate a question. Something that won't send her into hysterics.

"I can't imagine that," he admits, avoiding any questions.

"No, you can't. I didn't know. I ask myself everyday, how I didn't know. I should have known. I just didn't want to believe it. What was I supposed to do? How was I supposed to have a child, when I didn't even know..." her voice cracks.

"Know what?"

"What to expect? What it might look like. What monster it might resemble. I will never be able to forgive myself, for all of the mistakes that I made. I made all of the wrong choices. I never should have gone on that mission. I never should have come home alive. I never should tried to ignore that fact that something felt wrong. I was pregnant for months, and I didn't know. Do you have any clue what..."

He cuts her off, "It doesn't matter. You made the choices that you were forced to make. Sometimes there aren't any good options. You just have to make a choice, and neither of them are right."

"I don't even like to think about it."

"You don't have to. You don't have to carry that around with you, for the rest of your life. You did what you had to. You shouldn't feel guilty, because it was your choice to make."

"I still don't know if I made the right one, or not."


	4. Battle Wounds

"Why didn't you tell me? Were you afraid that I would judge you?"

"I was afraid that you would not understand."

"I understand."

"No," she shakes her head, "You don't."

"I don't?"

"I will never forgive myself, for not knowing."

"How could you have known?"

"Because all the signs were there. I just made excuses."

"Signs?"

"I couldn't keep anything down."

"I just assumed that it was because your stomach had shrunk, because of lack of food, in the desert."

"So did I."

"You have to let it go."

"I can't. I didn't know. I did things that... I never would have done, if I had known."

"But you didn't. You have to forgive yourself, for that. You have to put the what if's out of your mind. They don't matter."

"Yes, they do. They do matter. Just because I didn't know... it doesn't make it ok. It doesn't excuse the bad choices that I made."

"Why are you being so hard on yourself, about this?"

"I don't know any other way to be."

"Do you regret it? Is that what this is about? You didn't have to tell me. I am actually surprised that you're telling me now. Why, are you telling me now? Do you regret having an abortion?"

"No, I'm in over my head."

"Over your head? I don't understand."

"I know, and you probably never will. I am not sure, if I will ever understand it."

"Understand what?"

"Any of it."

"You regret it?"

"I just want to know if it ever gets any easier."

"I am sure with time it will."

"I doubt it. It only seems to get harder."

"Do you think that you made the wrong choice?"

"I don't know. I wake up ever single morning, and ask myself that same question."

"Why?"

"Because I have to face my decisions, every day."

"Can I do anything, to help you?"

"Tell me that I did the right thing."

"You did the right thing; the only thing."

She shakes her head, "No, not the only thing."

"I am sorry, that you had to go through this alone. You should have told me. I would have been there, for you."

"I want to believe that."

"But you don't?"

"No," she shakes her head.

"Why?"

"I don't think that you could support me, in doing something that you think is wrong."

"I would support you, no matter what. I always have your back, no matter what."

"Not on this."

"How do you know?"

"I know you. I know that you can't understand."

"I do understand."

"Really?"

"What I don't understand is, why you are still carrying this around with you."

"I have no choice."

"Why not?"

"I have kept it a secret for so long. Sometimes I feel like it isn't even real. I feel like it is all bad dream. Then I wake up, and... it's not a dream. It is real. It is all real. I was not ready."

"Ready?" he looks at her, in confusion.

She doesn't say anything. She allows a few moments to pass, in silence. He scrutinizes her expression. The dark circles under her eyes tell him, that she hasn't been sleeping. The look in her eyes, tells him that he's missing something. He watches as her chest rises an falls. He touches her hand. He tries to feel her burden. He tries to understand. She was right, he would never understand. He wasn't a woman. He could never understand. He couldn't walk a mile in her shoes.

He watches her, trying to understand. Why was she so upset? She had taken lives before. Why was this different? Was it because she was genetically responsible, for half of it? Was it because of the unknown? Was it because she had ended a life, before it began? Why couldn't she look at him? Why did she look ashamed? Ashamed for ending something, that never should have began? Why did she look so damn guilty? Was it the thought of the harm she could have caused; if she had chosen differently?

She looks at him, wondering if he can sense her thoughts. The battle going on, inside of her brain, in her heart. Good versus evil. Innocent life, versus evil spawn. Right versus wrong. Trying, versus giving up. Life, or death. The war she was waging, on herself, was impossible to win. She knew all of her tricks. She needed help. This time, she needed help. She would never admit defeat. This time, she had to ask for help.

He is surprised to hear her voice, so small, and helpless. She breaks the silence, that has consumed the space, between them. "I need help."

"I'm here."

"I am asking you to help me."

"Anything. Just tell me what you need me to do."

"Don't tell anyone."

"You know, your secret is safe with me."

"I mean it, you can't tell anyone."

"I wouldn't tell anyone. Why would you think that I would tell?"

"Because you will want to."

"No, I won't."

"You will. I do. I can't. Not now."

"Have you told anyone else?"

"No. I have never told anyone. You are the only one who knows."

"It's a big secret, to keep to yourself, for this long."

"You have no idea," she admits. "I think there is something you should see."

"Ok," he nods, in agreement.

She shows him a scar.


	5. The Secret From Somalia

He furrows his brow, in confusion. He stares at the scar, unsure of what to say. He looks up, at her face. He looks into her eyes, for guidance.

"It's ok," she tells him, giving him the go ahead. He traces the scar. A horizontal line.

"I don't understand," he admits.

"I told you, that you wouldn't."

"Can you make me understand?"

She nods. She gets up from the table, and leaves the room. He watches her disappear. She returns several minutes later. As she takes a seat, at the table, he stares at her.

"I..."

"You don't understand?"

"No," he shakes his head.

"What do you want me to say?"

"Why?"

"I wish that I knew. I wish that I could tell you why, but I can't."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was unsure how you were going to react."

"I don't know how to react."

"Any reaction would be appreciated. Something other than a blank stare."

"I don't know what to say."

"You can say, or ask whatever you want."

"How? How did you do it?"

"Do what?"

"This."

"I don't know. Every single day is a struggle. It shouldn't be. It should not have to be this hard. No one should ever look at their child, and wonder how they are going to muster up enough strength, to love them. No one should ever have to wonder, if they love their own child. That is not how it is supposed to work."

"You should have told me."

"It would not have changed anything."

"You have been in this, on your own, for too long. You should have told me."

"Why? What could you have possibly done?"

"Anything that I could have."

"You don't want to be a part of this."

"Do you?"

"No, some days, I don't."

"Then why are you doing this? Out of obligation? That isn't a good enough reason."

"You don't think that I know that?"

"How did you keep this from everyone, for so long?"

"It was never my intention. The way things worked out, were not how I expected them to."

_Thursday February 4th, 2010-0530_

_Ziva's phone rings. She grabs it out of the cup holder, as she drives. She flips the phone open. _

_"Agent David," she replies out of habit._

_"Miss David, this is Dr. Graham."_

_"Do you need something?"_

_"I noticed that you cancelled your appointment, for tomorrow."_

_"I..."_

_"When you left my office the other day, I noticed that you were a little shaken up. Obviously it was a surprise. Would you like to talk about it?"_

_"No. Look, I appreciate your concern, but I do not think that my appointment tomorrow is necessary."_

_"Why is that?"_

_"I cannot have a baby, not this baby."_

_"Ok. I understand that. I still think you should come in tomorrow."_

_"Why? So that you can convince me otherwise?"_

_"No. I would never try to convince you otherwise. Come in, and I'll do your ultrasound. We'll have a little chat. If you feel the same way, tomorrow, then I will make you a referral. Ok?"_

_"I don't know."_

_"I don't know what the circumstances are, surrounding this pregnancy. Obviously, they are not ideal. Whatever you want to do, that is your choice. I would feel better, if I saw you in my office, tomorrow, before you make your final decision. Are you planning on doing something, tonight?"_

_"No."_

_"So then coming in for your appointment tomorrow won't hurt anything."_

_"Ok," she agrees, trying to get off the phone._

_"I'll see you tomorrow," Dr. Graham hangs up._

_Friday February 5th, 2010_

_"Are you ready?" Dr. Graham asks._

_"I guess."_

_Dr. Graham places the probe on her stomach. Ziva tries to disconnect. She stares at her feet, instead of the monitor. She could avoid looking. She could even close her eyes, but she couldn't turn off her ears. A rhythmic beating fills the room. She turns her head, to look at the monitor. On the monitor, is a fetus. A fetus, she tells herself. She tries to convince herself, that it's not a life yet. The word baby just keeps bouncing around, in her head. It inserts its thumb into its mouth. She tries not to think about the baby moving inside her. How when she woke up that morning, she could feel it, moving inside of her. _

_"Do you want to know what the sex is?"_

_"I... does it matter?"_

_"You tell me. Do you want to know? Maybe you would prefer not to know."_

_"You can tell me."_

_"Are you sure?"_

_"Uh huh," she exhales._

_"It looks as if it's a girl."_

_"Oh."_

_"Do you want me to print you some pictures?"_

_"No."_

_"I called, and made you a referral. Is that still what you want?"_

_"I..."_

_"You know, there are a lot of other options."_

_"I..."_

_"I understand if you don't want to have it, if you don't want to keep it. I just want you to know, that there are lots of options."_

_"How am I supposed to know, which one is right?"_

_"It's not about what is right, or wrong. It's about what's right for you. If you don't want to have this baby, then you don't have to. You don't have to do anything, that you don't want to do."_

_"What if I need more time?"_

_"That is not something that you have a lot of, here. The longer you wait, the more complicated it gets."_

_"I..."  
><em>

_"You can talk to me, it's ok. That is what I'm here for."_

_"Tell me what to do."_

_"I can't tell you what to do."_

_"What would you do?"_

_"I would do whatever I felt, that I needed to. I would think about the options, and consider what they mean for me. What they mean now, and what they mean in the future. You have to live with whatever decision you make. You, and only you."_


	6. A Little Bit Of Hope

He stares at her, in the silence. Her dark curls. Her eyes, still heavy, with sleep. Long eyelashes. She stares back at him, in silence. He waits, for someone, to break the silence.

He expects Ziva to say something, but she doesn't. The little girl, whose head is pressed against her chest breaks the silence. She takes the pacifier out of her mouth. She smiles, in Tony's direction.

"Hi," her chubby little hand flaps.

"Hi," he smiles at her.

Ziva looks down at her. She's still warm. She smells of baby lotion, and sleep. She wears a pink onsie, and a diaper.

"Do you want to get down?" she asks.

The little girl slides off Ziva's lap, onto the floor. She wobbles towards Tony. She stops, when she reaches him. She holds onto his leg. He reaches down, and picks her up. He puts her on his lap. He studies her. A head full of dark curls. More curls than he expected. Her mother's lips. She reminded him of Ziva, a lot. Some pieces, didn't though. She puts the pacifier back into her mouth.

"You're cute. I take it you're not going to talk to me?"

She looks at Ziva.

"Do you want to go back to bed?"

The little girl nods. Ziva collects her, off Tony's lap, and carries her back to her room. She puts her into her crib, and returns to the kitchen. Tony waits for her, at the table.

"How old is she?"

"One."

"How did I miss it?"

"It was easy to miss. I tried to hide it to be best of my ability. Although, the morning sickness never wore off. I was sick constantly."

"I never noticed."

"I got good at hiding it."

"But you never looked pregnant."

"I couldn't seem to gain any weight."

"What's her name?"

"Joella Hope."

"Joella Hope? What do you call her? Joie? Ella?"

"Hope."

"How did you keep this a secret, all of this time?"

"I am good at keeping secrets."

"How did you do it? With the hours that we work?"

"I have a nanny. She sees her more than I do."

"Does that bother you?"

"A lot of things bother me."

"Such as?"

"One day she is going to ask me who her father is, and I won't be able to answer. I can't, because I have no clue. She is going to wonder why I kept her. Another question that I do not have the answer to."

"Do you love her?"

"Now I do. It didn't come easily, though. The first week, I couldn't even look at her. I brought her home, and I could barely bring myself to go into her room. Sometimes I look at her, and I wonder who she's going to become. I wonder if I should have chosen differently. I am never going to be a perfect mother. I am not even sure, if I can ever be a good mother. I do not do a very good job. I leave her, all the time. I stay at work, when I could be here, with her. I look at her, and I wonder if I actually love her, or if I have just convinced myself, that I do."

"Ziva," he gives her the, _you're being ridiculous look._

"If she turns into a monster, will it be because of her genetics? Or will it be because of something I did. What if I don't love her enough? What if she thinks that I am ashamed of her?"

"Are you?"

"I don't know. I am trying to protect her, but what if I can't? What if I brought her into this world, and I am never good enough? What if she hates me?" she rambles, on the verge of tears.

"I have an idea."

"What's that?"

"Why don't you go for a run. How long has it been since you went for a run?"

"A couple of weeks."

"Go."

"What about her? I can't leave her."

"You can't sacrifice everything for her, then you won't have anything left for you."

"I could sacrifice everything for her, and it probably would be enough."

"You have to take care of you, if you want to take care of her."

"But..."

"Go for a run. I can stay with her."

"You don't know how to change a diaper."

"I do."

"No, you don't."

"I have changed a diaper before."

"You have?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Can she solid foods?"

"Yes. If she wakes up, give her some cheerios."

"Ok. I can handle this. Go for a run. Take your time."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," he nods.

She leaves the apartment. He leaves the kitchen. He tiptoes into the baby's room. He finds her lying in her crib. He stops, and looks in, at her. She looks up at him. She pulls the pacifier out of her mouth, and lays it beside her. She smiles at him.

"Hi, Hope."

"Mommy?"

"She went for a run, she'll be back soon. Are you ready to get out of your crib?"

"Up!"

He lifts her out of the crib. He puts her on his hip, and carries her over to the changing table. He carefully peels her onsie off her. He quickly changes his diaper. He puts her on the floor. She follows him over to the dresser. He pulls out a dress. He slips it over her head.


	7. The One That Matters Most

He watches the little girl, as she sits at the table, eating cheerios. She sits in a booster seat, that Ziva had dragged out of the closet, before she left. The little girl looks at him, and smiles. She holds up a cheerio, and offers it to him.

"No, thank you."

She puts it in her mouth. He doesn't take his eyes off her, for a second. She was cute. Obviously, she was aware of it, too. One thing still bothered him. Two things, actually. More than two, but in reference to her appearance, two things bothered him. Her eyes, were dark. Too dark. Darker than Ziva's. And her complexion. He expected her to have an olive tone, like Ziva. Instead, the chubby finger that points at him, reminds him more of coffee, with cream.

"Are you done?" he asks the toddler.

"Mommy?" she responds.

"Mommy will be back soon," the sentence feels strange, as it tumbles from his lips.

He had never pictured this. Ziva, as a mother. As someone, who someone else referred to as _mommy_. Especially not under these circumstances. It all made sense now. Why she was so quick to accept Ray's empty promise. Why she couldn't let anyone get too close. She had too much to lose. She had too many secrets to protect. It all made since now. Everything that she had done. To protect just one secret. The only secret that mattered.

He unfastens the belt on the booster seat. He lifts the little girl out of the seat.

"Mommy!"

"She'll be home soon," he repeats.

"Mommy!" she squirms.

He looks at her. He notices she's looking over his shoulder.

"What are you looking at?"

"Mommy, mommy, mommy."

"Is that the only word you know?" He questions.

"No."

He feels his heart skip a beat. He turns around, and finds Ziva behind him, in her running attire. He shoots her a look. The baby reaches for her. Ziva slides her onto her hip.

"How many times have I told you not to do that?"

"How many times have I told you to be more aware of your surroundings?"

"I was distracted."

"It is no excuse."

"How long were you standing there?"

"Just a few seconds."

"I'm beginning to think that you're the next Gibbs."

"I wouldn't want that job," she admits.

"Mommy?" The little girl squishes Ziva's cheeks with the palms of her hands.

"Huh?"

"Bink."

"No."

"Bink? What does that mean?"

"She wants her binky."

"Her what?"

"Her pacifier. Her nanny calls it a binky."

"So she calls it bink?"

"Yes."

"And you understand what she means?"

"Yes."

"But you told her no."

"I am trying to get rid of it."

"Get rid of it? How?"

"I only let her have it when she's sleeping. Soon it will be going in the trash."

"Ziva can I ask you something?"

"Can you hold on?" she questions, moving towards the closet. He nods. She pulls out a playpen, and pops it open. She places the baby inside. She returns to the closet, and pulls out a bin. She takes a couple toys out, and puts them in the playpen with Hope. She closes the closet door. Her partner looks at her, waiting patiently.

"Can it wait?" she wonders.

"I suppose, why?"

"I'd like to take a quick shower."

"That was a quick run," he comments.

"Will you watch her?"

"Sure," he nods, moving towards the couch. She leaves the room. He sinks onto the couch. He stares at the playpen.

"Hi," the little girl waves.

"Do you do any tricks?"

"She's not a dog," Ziva calls from the other room.

"Do you have supersonic hearing, too?" he asks the little one.

"Bink?"

"Zi... your mommy said no."

"Bink," she huffs.

He gets off the couch. He peers inside the playpen. He picks up a toy.

"How about a puppy?"

"Cat," she answers.

"Cat? No, it's a dog."

"Cat!" she replies.

"It's in the closet," Ziva calls out.

He hears the shower turn on. He backs away from the playpen, and moves towards the closet. He opens the door, and steps inside. A stroller. A car seat. Shelves with bins. He pulls out a bin. It's labeled shoes. Inside are half a dozen pairs of little shoes. He moves on to the next bin, labeled books. Full of books. Two more book bins. He moves down a shelf. Finally he finds one that contains toys. Foam letters, and a see and say. He moves to the next bin; labeled stuffed toys. He pulls it out. He finds a bear, a puppy, a doll, a giraffe, another bear, at the bottom he finds a stuffed grey cat. He lifts it out, and puts the bin back. He leaves the closet and returns to the playpen. he offers it to the Hope.

"Here you go."

"Cat," she smiles, hugging the stuffed cat.

By the time Ziva has gotten out of the bathroom, Hope has fallen back to sleep. Tony sits on the couch, waiting for her. She comes into the living room.

"Should I take her to her room?"

"No. You can leave her. She's a sound sleeper. She can sleep through just about anything."

"You should have told me."

"I couldn't."

"Ziva I have to ask..."


	8. Not Part Of The Plan

"Does she always sleep like that?"

"No. She is usually up by zero five."

"It's way past zero five."

"She was up late last night. She refused to go to sleep. I think she finally fell asleep around twelve thirty."

"Why didn't she want to go to sleep?"

"She missed me, I guess."

"You know that's not the question I wanted to ask."

"I know."

"So..."

"When I was pregnant, every single day I would try, to picture what she might look like. I never could. I had no idea what she would look like, who she would look like."

"She looks like you."

"No, not entirely."

"You amaze me, sometimes."

"I amaze you? How?" she scowls.

"I don't know where you find the strength."

"Strength? It wasn't strength."

"Then what was it?"

She shrugs, "I don't know."

"What made you decide to keep her?"

"It wasn't really a conscious decision."

"What do you mean?"

"I needed more time. I did not have any more time, so I just decided to see it through."

"So you went to the hospital, with the intention of what? Bringing her home?"

"No. I went there, with the intention of having her. I planned on leaving her there, and walking away, empty handed."

"When did you even have her? I don't remember..."

"I took three weeks off."

"Three weeks?"

"I only planned on taking a few days. My plans never seem to work out the way I want them to."

"What do you mean?"

_0700-May 31st, 2010_

_She walks into the hospital, with a bag. Inside, is a toothbrush, a hairbrush, and a change of clothes. She calmly speaks with the receptionist. She explains that she has been having contractions, for over five hours. She doesn't wince in pain. She fills out the paperwork, and is ushered to a room. The nurse looks at her in pity. Here she was, to have a baby, alone. _

_She sits in the hospital bed, waiting. Finally her doctor comes into the room. She walks in, with a smile on her face. How could some one be so happy? She had never seen Dr. Graham without a smile on her face. Maybe she was faking. She had to smile, she delivered babies for a living. She had to be pretend to be joyful. _

_Joyful, this was not going to be a joyful occasion. The doctor finishes her exam. She tosses her gloves in the trash. She stops, at Ziva's bedside._

_"You're dilated to three. Do you want something for pain?"_

_"No."_

_"You don't want anything? Do you think you might want an epidural?"_

_"No. I'll be fine."_

_"Are you sure?"_

_"I'm sure."_

_"You have time to change your mind, if you want to."_

_"I won't."_

_"Do you need anything?"_

_"No."_

_"Are you sure?"_

_"I just want to get this over with."_

_1015_

_The nurse comes into the room. Ziva tries her best to ignore the pain. She could handle this. _

_"How is your pain?"_

_"I'm fine," she lies._

_"Are you sure?"_

_"I'm fine."_

_The nurse checks her progress. She hits the call light. Ziva looks down at her, she notices the look of panic on her face._

_"Is something wrong? What just happened?"_

_Other nurses, and the doctor run into the room. Ziva can't make out what they're saying, through all the commotion. Ziva's nurse doesn't move. She remains stationary, with her hand frozen. Dr. Graham approaches Ziva._

_"We're going to have to take you for a c-section."_

_"What's wrong?"_

_"Your water broke. Sometimes when your water breaks the cord can come out with it. It cuts off the oxygen supply to the baby. We are going to have to take you for an emergency c-section, now."_

_The next series of events occurs in a blur. The nurse climbs onto the bed with her. She is whisked out of her room, down the hall, to the elevator. They put oxygen on her. When they reach the O.R. they give her anesthesia. _

_0115_

_She opens her eyes, and finds herself back in her room. A nurse, standing by her IV pole looks at her. She smiles. Ziva takes a breath. It hurts to breathe._

_"What happened?" _

_"You had to have an emergency c-section. Everything went well. You have some staples, that will have to come out later. Your baby is in the nursery. She's doing well. Would like me to go get her, for you?"_

_"No, that's ok."_

_"I'll let Dr. Graham know that you're awake."_

_Ten minutes later Dr. Graham comes into the room. She holds up a book, and places it on Ziva's bedside table._

_"What is that?"_

_"It's a book. Last time you were in my office you said that you hadn't picked out a name. I didn't know if you wanted to take a look at it."_

_"Not really."_

_"How are you feeling?"_

_"Like I've been run over by a semi-truck."_

_"Have you seen your baby yet?"_

_"No."_

_"Do you want me to get her?"_

_"No. Can I get up?"_

_"Get up? You want to get up? That probably isn't a good idea. Why don't we wait a little while longer."_

_"I want to get up. I don't want to lie here."_

_"If you can get up, and walk to the bathroom, then I'll let you get up and walk. Ok?"_

_"Ok," she agrees._


	9. Hope

_The nurse comes in, with a wheel chair. Ziva refuses to ride in a wheel chair. She grabs the IV pump, and starts down the hallway. The nurse follows behind her. She tells her to walk past the nurses station. Fifty feet from the nurses station Ziva comes to a window. She stops, and looks inside. The nursery. Eight babies are parked in front of the window. She looks at them, one by one. _

_An Asian baby, to her right. Next to him a tiny baby, with pale skin, and big blue eyes. Next to her a chubby baby, with it's hand against its face. Next to her a sleeping baby, with a blue card on the end of the basinet. She moves on to the next row. She studies each face. She stands in silence. Eight babies, she could eliminate three, because they were the wrong gender. One because her baby was not over eight pounds. Another, because her baby was not Asian. _

_That left three babies. Three babies, and she no clue which one she had given birth to. Her eyes go from one face, to another. She feels herself on the verge of a break down, when the nurse breaks the silence. The nurse points, "There she is." Ziva looks at the baby her nurse points to. _

_The little girl, in the back row, to the far right. She was sleeping. Her arm wriggles free from her blanket. Her tiny hand searches for her face. Her mouth opens, and her thumb finds its way inside. She stares at the baby, for several moments, in silence._

_"Do you want to go see her?"_

_"I..." she hesitates._

_The nurse feels a hand gently touch her shoulder blade. She turns, and finds Dr. Graham. "Thanks, Lisa, I'll make sure she gets back to her room." The nurse nods, and steps away. She makes her way down the hall, to the nurses station. _

_"You haven't said much. How are you feeling?"_

_"I don't know," she admits, "I just want to go back to my room."_

_"You don't want to go in, and see her?"_

_"No," Ziva shakes her head._

_"Is there someone I can call for you?"_

_"No. There isn't anyone you can call. When can I go home?"_

_"In a few days."_

_"I don't want to stay that long."_

_"We won't send her home without you."_

_"I..." she fights back the tears. She sinks into the wheelchair. _

_0400_

_The nurse comes into the room, wheeling a basinet. She stops in front of Ziva's bed. Ziva looks at her, in disbelief. The nurse smiles kindly._

_"She's been looking for you."_

_"I doubt that," Ziva replies._

_The baby's eyes move towards the sound of Ziva's voice. _

_"She's awake. Would you like to hold her?"_

_"I..."_

_"I can take her back, if that's what you want."_

_Ziva looks inside the basinet. The newborn's eyes stare at her. Ziva exhales._

_"You can leave her."_

_"Are you sure?"_

_Ziva nods._

_"I'm going to go check on my other patient down the hall. I'll be back in ten minutes. Just turn on your call light, if you need anything."_

_Ziva nods. She puts the head of the bed up. She swings her legs over the side. She looks inside the basinet. Finally, she carefully scoops the baby up. The baby rests in her arms. She scrutinizes the baby's tiny features. She sees her own lips. The little girl's finger drifts back into her mouth. Her big dark eyes begin to close. Her eyelids flutter. Ziva carefully slips the cap of her head. Dark waves of hair. She studies the baby. She furrows her brow. She reaches over, and turns the light beside the bed, on. _

_Was this really her baby? She unwraps the baby, and checks the I.D. on her ankle. She compares the baby's bracelet to her own. The name, and the numbers match. This was her little girl. She looks at the card on the end of the basinet. Baby Girl David. 6 lbs 8oz. 19 inches. _

_She looks up, when she hears the knock on the door. Dr. Graham enters the room. Ziva watches her. _

_"Not what you were expecting?" _

_"I didn't know what to expect."_

_"I meant what she looks like," Dr. Graham clarifies._

_"So did I."_

_"Ziva?"_

_"Huh?"_

_"Have you chosen a name?"_

_"I... I hadn't planned on taking her home, with me."_

_"Ok. If that is what you want, I will arrange for someone from children services to come get her, when she is discharged."_

_June 2nd- 0800_

_She pulls on her clothes. She zips her bag. The nurse comes in to collect her paperwork. _

_"Do you have everything?"_

_"Yes," she nods._

_"Don't forget your book," the nurse points to the book on her bedside stand. _

_"Oh, it's not mine. It's Dr. Graham's."_

_"Ok. I'm going to make a phone call. I'm going to get a visitor to come up, and take you downstairs. Then you'll be ready to go."_

_"Ok," she nods._

_The nurse leaves the room. Ziva picks up the book, off the bedside stand. She looks at the book. The cover is worn. The spine is creased. This was a well used book. the name Graham is written on the side, in permanent marker. Clearly Dr. Graham lent it out often. Ziva notices a bookmark, near the middle of the book. She flips it open, curious as to what name the last person who had used it had chosen. She studies the name, at the top of the page. Joella. A Hebrew name. A name meaning; God Will Be Willing. _

_She closes the book. Was that supposed to be some sort of sign? No, it wasn't. She pushes the thought from her mind. She didn't believe in signs, or coincidence, for that matter. She couldn't keep that baby. She didn't have anything for a baby. She was not ready for a baby. Someone else would be better suited, to take care of the baby. Joella. Joella? She couldn't name a baby she wasn't keeping. She didn't want a baby. She didn't want this baby._

_She hears footsteps. She looks up, and sees Dr. Graham walking past her door. Dr. Hope Graham. That was a nice name. Hope. Joella Hope. She scolds herself, for being unable to control her train of thought. The name keeps playing in her head. The picture of a tiny face pops into her head. Dr. Graham comes back down the hallway. She stops in Ziva's doorway._

_"You're leaving?"_

_"Yes," Ziva nods, she holds out the name book, "Here."_

_Hope takes it from her. "I think that I hear your volunteer coming. I'll get going."_

_"I don't have anything, for a baby. I..."_

_"You, what?"_

_"I don't want to leave her," she blurts out. She looks around the room, wondering where the voice came from. She comes to the realization that it is her own voice, speaking against her will. _

_Dr. Graham smiles at her. _


	10. The Whole World, Over

She exhales. He waits for her to continue. She looks over at the playpen.

"At least I know that she's not Saleem's."

"Your decision would have been different, if she was?"

"Yes. I have a hard enough time, now. Her face, is a reminder. I can never forget, because I have her. I am afraid that one day I am going to look at her, and see the face of a monster. I am afraid that I'm going to look at her, and all of the memories are going to come flooding back. What if I remember? What happens if I figure out who it is?"

"You really don't know?"

"No. It happened so many times, I stopped..." she chokes.

"You stopped what?"

"I stopped fighting back. I just went somewhere else," the tears trickle down her face, "Anywhere else. Any place that wasn't a prison, where I spent every day afraid of who was going to come in the door next. I thought that maybe, one day, they would get tired. They would stop, but they didn't. They never stopped."

"How can you look at her? Knowing what you know? Why did you choose to have her?"

"I'm not a monster."

"Do you think that not having her would have made you a monster?"

"It was not fair, to make that choice, based on one reason. It wasn't enough."

"One day she is going to ask why you're all that she has. What are you going to say?"

"Nothing. I..."

"You what?"

"I won't turn her into a monster. I don't want her to carry that burden around with her, the rest of her life."

"How can you look at her, and not resent her, just for existing?"

"She didn't do anything wrong. She is innocent."

"You really expect me to believe that you can look at her, and not resent her?"

"Yes."

"I refuse to believe that you don't struggle with this decision every day of your life."

"I do. Everyday I ask myself if I will ever love her enough. If I do enough. If I sacrifice enough."

"Why do you do it?"

Before she can answer the baby begins to stir. She sits up in the playpen. She looks around. She finds Ziva sitting on the coffee table. She stands up, and peeks out. Her hair goes in several different directions. She has a line on her face, from the toy it was resting on. Ziva turns around, and looks at her. Hope smiles.

"Hi, Mom-mom."

"Do you want out?"

"Up."

"No, Hope, out, not up."

"Up!" she insists.

Ziva rolls her eyes, and lifts the baby out of the playpen. Hope presses her head against Ziva's shoulder.

"Are you a sleepy girl?"

Hope lifts her head and looks at Ziva. She smiles, and plants a big, sloppy, wet kiss on Ziva's cheek.

"I get it," Tony admits.

Ziva turns to look at him, "Get what?"

"That's why you do it. For her smile."

"It's more than that."

"Why do you insist on keeping her a secret?"

"I am trying to protect her."

"From who? Ziva you can't protect her from the whole world."

"No, but I can try."

"How can you afford a full time nanny?"

"No comment."

"No comment? Do you have some secret money stashed away, somewhere?"

She shrugs, "Maybe."

"Maybe? Did you hit the lottery, or something?"

"No. It's money from my trust fund."

"Your what? You have a trust fund?"

"Yes."

"Your father set up a trust fund for you?"

"No. My mother's father. My grandfather was a very wealthy man."

"How much is in it?"

"Does it matter?"

"If you have a trust fund then why do you work?"

"I couldn't touch it until I was twenty five."

"That was a few years ago. Why are you still working?"

"I would go insane if I didn't work. It's not enough to last for the rest of my life."

"How much is it?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Ziva?"

"What?"

"Does your father know?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"He sees things as very black and white."

He furrows his brow. He casts his eyes in Hope's direction.

She shakes her head, "What I mean is; he would do the math. Once he did, he would have her destroyed."

"Destroyed? What are you talking about?"

"He would destroy her. He would take her, and make her disappear. He would make certain that there was no way I could ever see her again."

"Why would he do that?"

"Why do snakes slither?" she counters.

"She's your child. That has to mean something."

"Not enough."

"Why not?"

"It just wouldn't be. He is very traditional, in some aspects."

"What were you supposed to do?"

"In his eyes whatever I do is a reflection of him. If he found out he would believe that I have disgraced his name. He wouldn't stand for it."

"She's his granddaughter."

"Only by blood. Just like the only tie she has to..." she stops, abruptly. She looks at the little girl sitting on her lap. Hope looks up at her. She smiles at Ziva. Ziva kisses her forehead. "It doesn't matter. None of it matters. What matters is that I am going to do everything I can to protect her."

"You can't protect her from everything. You can't keep her in a bubble, forever."

"I will not lose her. She is the only thing that makes me human."

"What do you mean?"

"I was destructive, and cold. I did not want to feel anything. I did not want anything, but vengeance. I was consumed by the past."

"What changed?"

"She changed everything. Everything I knew, or thought I knew. Every belief I had, everything changed, with her."


	11. Let It Go

"You still seem over your head."

"I am. I work all the time. I barely see her. Most of the time when I do get to see her, she is sleeping. When I am not at work I am here with her. I attempted to have an adult relationship. You can't do that, when your whole life is a secret."

"You aren't going to tell him?"

"I am not willing to take the chance."

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

"No," she shakes her head.

"Maybe I could watch her. I could watch her on Saturday mornings, so you could go for a run."

"That's not necessary."

"I want to help."

"Why?"

"You don't have to keep this secret on your own."

"Tony, you do not owe me anything. If anything, I owe you. I owe you my life. You have no responsibility, no obligation here. This is my responsibility."

"Your responsibility, or your burden?"

"I..."

"There is a difference, you know."

"I know."

"Let me help you. You've come this far, what's one more step? You've let me in, now let me help."

"Why do you want to help me? Don't you understand. I am broken. I cannot be fixed. Nothing you can do is ever going to fix me."

"I don't expect you to be fixed. I just want to help you heal."

"How do you plan on doing that?"

"However I can. I will do whatever it takes."

"Don't make an offer that you cannot..."

He cuts her off, "I would never make you a promise that I can't keep."

"But," she vacates her seat. She stands up, with a baby on her hip. She tries to argue. He presses his index finger to her lips.

"Just once, don't push me away."

She exhales. She breathes out the doubt. She pushes aside the guilt. She locks eyes with him. He looks back at her, in understanding. Finally she was free. She was free of the burden that she had been carrying. A burden too big to carry on her own. He was there for her. She didn't know what it meant. She didn't know if what was broken, between them, could ever be fixed. What she had; what he was offering; it had to be enough.

For once in her life, she was ready to settle for enough. A promise from the only person she could trust. The only person in her whole life who refused to walk away. The one who wouldn't betray her. The one who would die for her, and nearly did. She would never understand how she deserved someone like that in her life. She was just glad he was there.

"Do you ever take her outside?"

"What do you mean?"

"She can't live in this bubble forever."

"It's hot."

"It's not, actually."

"But.."

"And can I ask, why is she wearing a dress?"

"She's a little girl."

"I never pictured you dressing your daughter in a dress. I never pictured you having a daughter."

"I didn't pick it out."

"The nanny?"

"No, she picked it out."

"She picked it out?"

"She pointed to it."

"You don't actually think that she..."

"Believe me, she did."

"Has she ever been to the park? Has she ever gotten dirty?"

"The nanny takes the to the park."

"To the park, or walks her through the park?"

"The second one, I guess. What is the difference?"

"We're taking her to the park."

"Someone might see."

"You're going tot create complex psychological issues, for her, if you won't take her in public."

"I do take her in public."

"Rarely."

"So?"

"She is going to think that you are ashamed of her. She's going to think that she did something wrong."

"Tony she is a year old. Her thoughts are not that complex."

He reaches out for the baby. He smiles at her. "Hope do you want to go to the park? You can play on the swings?"

She smiles, and squeals. She reaches for Tony. Ziva glowers, from three feet away.

"Fine," she huffs, and rolls her eyes, "Let me get the stroller."

"The stroller. Is there something wrong with her legs?"

"What do you mean?"

"I have seen her walk."

"She can't walk that far."

"That far? I plan on carrying her there."

"But..."

"Just come on."

"I have to get her bag."

"Then get it, and come on, or we'll leave without you."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Making you go to the park?"

"You know what I mean."

He shakes his head, "No, I don't."

"You act as if this is completely natural, completely normal. I have a child. She is a year old, and I just told you about her."

"It's not like she's mine."

"I kept my child a secret from you, for a year. You are my best friend. That doesn't bother you?"

"I'm your best friend?"

"That's all you got out of that?"

"Ziva I respect your privacy. I wish that you would be more open with me, about things. I am just trying to be your friend, and support you."

"You should be angry."

"Why would I be angry?"

"Because I should have told you."

"I am angry that you didn't tell me."

"You don't look angry."

"You need my support, not my anger. You have had enough anger in your life."


	12. Bring You Back

"How long are you going to stay here?" she asks over Chinese. This was their third meal together today. It was after eight. Hope had been bathed, and was now sleeping, in her crib.

She watches him, as he sits across from her at the kitchen table. He shovels a bite of food into his mouth.

"Did you hear me?" she wonders, aloud.

He chews, and swallows, taking his sweet time. "That depends."

"On what?"

"How long it's going to take."

"How long it's going to take, for what?"

"For you to be ok."

"You don't have that kind of time."

"I'll make time."

"You don't have that much time."

"It drives me crazy. I know you're broken, and I just want to fix you. I know I can't. It kills me. To see you in this much pain, everyday. I just want to be able to do something, anything to make you feel a little less pain."

"There is nothing that you can do."

"Nothing?"

"No, not in the realm of reality."

"Meaning?"

"Nothing."

"Why do you try to hide the broken pieces, that I need to see?"

"It is not that simple. My life is not simple. I try not to think about it. I have tried to move on."

"Have you succeeded?"

"No."

"Did you ever stop to think that it's because you bury it, instead of dealing with it."

"There are some things that I don't want to remember."

"How are you going to overcome the past, if you never face it. Every day you look at your reminder. You stare at a little girl who you love. A little girl, who should not really have ever been brought into existence."

"I can't look into her eyes, and tell her that she was a mistake."

"But she was, wasn't she?"

"I..."

"A beautiful mistake, but a mistake nonetheless."

"She's a little girl. She's innocent. She hasn't done anything wrong."

"I can't help but wonder if you're doing this to change who you are, or to punish yourself."

"I..."

"Why do you feel like you deserved to be punished?"

"Because I do. Do you have any idea the things that I have done?"

"I know what you have done. You don't deserve this."

"Deserve what?"

"To hate yourself, everyday, for things that you could not control. When are you ever going to love you?"

"It isn't just about the lives I have taken."

"What else do you feel guilty about, then?"

"The one I could have ruined. The life I could still ruin."

"What are you talking about?"

"Do you know how long four months is?"

"About a hundred and twenty days."

"When you're pregnant, and you don't know it?"

He shrugs.

"I didn't know. I could have..."

"You could have what?"

"Ruined her life. I didn't know," she repeats.

"How many times?"

"More than a few. I gave up on drowning my sorrows. I could have caused irreversible damage."

"But you didn't. She's fine."

"And that is a miracle."

"What are you really upset about?"

"I..." he locks eyes with her, and she gazes into his eyes. He feels her going to a deep dark place. He touches the back of her hand, with his thumb.

"Ziva, it's ok. It's just the two of us, here. You can talk me. You're safe. You can tell me."

"I..."

"Whatever it is. I will listen."

"I should have been able to stop it. I should have done more. I should have fought harder."

"No," he shakes his head,, "You did everything you could."

"It was my fault. I never should have went there. They were my decisions. It was my fault. It was all my fault."

"No. It wasn't your fault."

She swallows hard. Her eyes brim with tears. Her eyes remain fixed on his face. She tries to keep herself in the present. She allows him to be her anchor. To keep her from going back.

"Then why do I feel like it was?"

"You think that you are capable of things that you are not. You cannot fight a small army, by yourself, and expect to win. No one person can do that. Not even you."

"I let them break me."

"You didn't let them do anything," he argues.

"Yes I did. I let them break me. I should have fought harder. I should have done more. I never should have given up. I could have..."

"You couldn't."

"Those last couple of weeks, I was ready to give up. I was ready to die. I stopped fighting back. If I had just held on a little bit longer."

"What do you mean?"

"It happened, just before I left. A few more days, and everything would be different. There would be no Hope."

"You don't remember?"

She grits her teeth, "I don't want to remember."

"You have to."

"I..."

"Pretending that something didn't happen, when it did, doesn't work."

"I can't pretend. I have a child, as proof."

"Then why do you block it out?"

"I am afraid that if I go back there; if I allow myself to take a stroll down memory lane; I won't be able to get back."

"I'm here. If you want to go there. I will bring you back. I will always come for you."


	13. One Day

_September 12th, 2009 _

_She lies against the wall. Her knees are hugged to her chest. Her back leans against the wall. Her feet are pressed against the dirty floor. He had taken her shoes. He had taken a lot of things from her. Her will to live. Any dreams that she had ever had. Everything she ever had, or ever was; was gone. She was broken. She was still breathing, her heart was still beating, but she wasn't alive. On the inside, she wasn't alive. _

_Her hands rest on her lap. She looks at them. They were lacerated, bruised, calloused. They ached. The dirt under her fingernails is thick. She shudders at the thought of what was under them. DNA. Epithelial cells. She had fought back. Hit, kicked, bit, and clawed. It wasn't enough. It was never enough. _

_She was tired. She was tired, but sleep never seem to come. She was tired of fighting. Tired of being alive. She just wanted to close her eyes, and stop existing. At least then she would be free. If she went to hell... it would have to be better than this. This was her Hell. There was no getting free. No selling your soul to the devil._

_The devil himself couldn't save her. She swallows hard. She feels sand travel down her throat. It burns. No one could save her. She didn't want to be saved, she just wanted it to be over. There was no telling when her keeper would be back. He would ask her the same questions. She would refuse to answer. He would torture her. She would refuse to answer. He would torture her some more. _

_Why didn't she just tell him? Her loyalty, it wouldn't matter, if she was dead. That was where she would be soon, if she didn't give something up. She was not willing to forsake the only people who had ever truly given a damn about her. She couldn't betray them, even if it meant she had to give her life in exchange. _

_She hears footsteps, coming towards her. They stop, outside her door. She struggles against her bounds. The door swings open. It creaks. It flies back, and hits the wall. Three of them come in. Heavy footfalls move towards her. She blinks, and six more join them. Nine others in her cage, with her. _

_She hears Saleem's voice. "Play nice, and take turns," he laughs, and walks away. She closes her eyes, for a moment. _

_She feels hot, stagnant breath on her face. She opens her eyes, and finds a face, with dark, soulless eyes looking back at her. He touches her face. She winces. He smiles. She tries to disconnect her mind, from her body. _

_She feels his fingers, removing her belt. He rips it off her, and casts it aside. His falls to the ground next to her. She struggles. He mutters something. Suddenly she is lying flat, and someone is pinning her arms to the ground. She looks down, and finds a savage at each leg, pinning them down. She looks at the one between them. The one coming towards her. _

_They rotate, taking turns. Finally hours, or maybe even days later, they leave the room. They slam the door behind them. Snickering, and laughing, as they stomp down the hallway. She curls up into a ball, in the corner of the room. She stares at the floor. A couple of feet away is a stain. A new one. A fresh puddle of blood. Her blood. _

_Her eyes flit, to another stain on the floor. This one was dry. It was darker, it had been there longer. She could hardly even see the color of the dirt. There were too many stains. Too many painful reminders. She exhales, it hurts to breathe. She ignores the pain. She shuts down. She goes numb. It was the only way. She closes her eyes. The tears fall against her will. She finds herself too weak to control them. She cries until there are no more tears. She finally drifts off into oblivion. _

He doesn't say a word. She watches him closely, as he moves towards her. He gently reaches for her hand. It falls from her lap. She rises to meet him. She buries her head in his chest, as his arms wrap around her. He says nothing. He simply holds her, as she cries. She clings to him.

He was the only one who could touch her, and not make her freeze. He was gentle, an mindful. She didn't flinch when he tucked the hair behind her ear, or squeezed her hand. He was the only one she could trust.

"It's been a long day, you should get to bed."

She lets go of him, and takes a step back. She looks at him, in bewilderment. He studies her expression.

"You need to go to sleep," he clarifies, "I'll go, so you can get some rest."

The sense of panic slips away. He meant sleep. He wouldn't annihilate her, when she was vulnerable. She shakes her head.

"No? No, what?" he questions.

"You can't go."

"Why not?"

"Will you stay? Please?"

"You should rest."

"I need you to stay."

"Ok," he nods, in agreement.

Clearly Paris had left an impression on her. She had insisted on him sleeping with her. He tried to keep his distance, but that wasn't what she wanted. It wasn't what she needed. Eventually she fell to sleep, in his arms. She let him hold her, all night long.

He peels off his street clothes, until he's down to a pair of shorts, and a t-shirt. She turns off the lamp, and crawls into the bed. She moves towards him. He snakes his arm around her. She closes her eyes, and finally she sleeps. In the safety of his arms, she sleeps. She sleeps through the night, for the first time in months.

When she opens her eyes, she finds him staring at her. The look in his eyes, tells her that something is off.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry," he admits.

"For what?"

"Lying."

"Lying?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I knew."

"You knew, what?"

"I knew, that you were pregnant."

"You knew? I didn't even know, for months. How could you have possibly known?"

"I didn't want to know, you have to believe that."

"I don't believe for a second, that you knew."

"I knew."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because I can do math, too."

"What are you talking about?"

"I know you, better than most people."

"That is true."

"I had shared a bed with you, before."

"Before? What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about Paris. You may have been able to fool everyone else, but not me."

"You couldn't have possibly known."

"You're wrong."

"You would have said something."


	14. Doubt

_January 25th, 2010_

_She squirms, in her sleep. She tries to move away from him, in her sleep. Just an inch, or two. Far enough, to keep him from getting to close. His arm rests around her stomach. He breathes in, and out. She had been asleep for an hour. He just couldn't seem to fall asleep. Tonight, his thoughts were keeping him wide awake. _

_He knew her pretty well. He knew her body well enough. This wasn't the first time that they had been in bed together. The last time, they had much less between them, than heavy pajamas, and blankets. His fingers rest on her pajama top. She had been in Somalia, for months. She had lost a lot of weight. When she came back, she was mostly skin, and bones._

_This just didn't fit. He had felt her stomach before. Rock solid, abs of steel. That was what he had expected. Her stomach was firm. But, now, it was different. It was round. As if she was... he trails off, trying not to let his mind go there. His mind races, and he does the math anyway. It had been months since she had come back. He knew by the way she acted that she wasn't going to let another man near her, any time soon. Maybe she had brought back more than scars, from Somalia. His heart sinks. The word hits him like a ton of bricks. Pregnant. Maybe she wasn't. Maybe his imagination was running wild. Maybe she didn't know. If she did... he closes his eyes, and tries to think about something, anything else._

_January 26th, 2010_

_He looks at the clock, on the stand next to the bed. 0430. He closes his eyes, and rolls over. He notices the empty spot next to him. It was still warm. He listens closely. He hears the noises coming from the bathroom. Followed by a flush, and the sound of the faucet. He rolls over, and pretends not to be awake, as she crawls back into bed. If she didn't want to share her secret, that was fine with him. And if she did, he'd take it to his grave. _

_February 2, 2010_

_He tries not to look, as they shower, in the decontamination showers. His eyes couldn't help but wonder. She was right next to him. She and McGee, were too busy to scrubbing, to notice anything else. She standing right next to him, butt-naked. He could see everything. And what he saw, confirmed his suspicions. It was obvious. At least to him. Maybe not to anyone else. He redirects his attention to his shower._

* * *

><p>She looks at him in utter disbelief. She shakes her head.<p>

"Then why did you play dumb? Why did you act like you thought that..."

"I thought that maybe you had. I didn't know. You never told me. I just assumed that maybe..."

"You knew? Why didn't you say anything?"

"I didn't think that you wanted me to. I figured that if you wanted me to know anything, that you would tell me."

"Do you think that other people knew?"

"No. I don't."

"But you knew?"

"Yes."

"Why did you act so shocked?"

"I honestly was. I just assumed that you had had an abortion."

"Even though I was showing?"

"I didn't know. I thought that maybe you took your time making up your decision. How would I know? You never told me."

"I guess that I should have."

"When you never did, I just assumed it meant that there was no baby."

"Really?"

He shakes his head, "No there were still days, when I questioned whether you were pregnant or not."

"And?"

"I decided that I was being delusional."

"But you weren't. Why did you think that I took time off?"

"It was a traumatic year. I figured that you just needed some time to yourself."

"I see."

"And the other part of my brain said that you took the time off, to have a baby."

"So you have multiple personalities?"

"I just have a rational side, and an irrational side."

"And when I didn't say anything about it?"

"I thought there was nothing to tell. I figured that if there was ever a baby, other than in my imagination, that there wasn't one in your life."

"But there was."

"And you should have told me."

"And what would you have done?"

"Told you that you were completely out of your mind."

"That would not have helped."

"And after I told you that you were completely crazy, I would have helped you."


	15. Gone

"Can we just stay here, for a while?" he asks her.

"And do what?"

"I'll just hold you, until you don't need me to, anymore."

"Why are you doing this, for me?"

"It's complicated," he admits.

"I wonder why we haven't heard Hope, yet?"

"I'll go check on her."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," he nods. He peels back the covers, and climbs out of her bed. He wonders into the other bedroom. He sees the sun shining in, through the curtain. He moves towards the crib. He stops when he reaches it. He looks inside. He furrows his brow, when he realizes that it's empty. He looks around the room. He feels a sense of panic wash over him.

"Tony?" Ziva calls out, "Is she up?"

He walks towards the doorway. He stops, and flips on the light. The 60 watt bulb illuminates the room. He surveys the room, like he surveys a crime scene. Empty crib. Empty, floor. He bends down, and peers underneath the crib. He stands back up, and looks at the window. A gust of wind blows the curtains. He moves towards the window. He makes sure not to touch anything. He looks out the window, down the fire escape. The street below, is empty.

"Tony?" Ziva calls out, again.

He turns around, with his stomach in knots. He slowly trudges back to her room. When he reaches her doorway, he feels a lump form in his throat. She takes one look at him, and knows something isn't right.

"Tony? What's wrong?"

He shakes his head, unsure of what to say, or how to say it.

"Why do you look as if you've seen a ghost?"

Of all times, it has to be the one time she'd get an idiom right. He shakes the thought from his head, refocusing on the situation. He swallows the lump in his throat, and broaches the subject.

"Ziva, does she get out of the crib, on her own?"

"No," Ziva denies, "Why?"

"She's not in the crib," he answers.

"She has been climbing, a lot more, lately. Maybe she climbed out. Did you look in the kitchen. She loves to pull things out of the cabinet. Or off shelves, look in the closet."

"Ok," he turns around, and goes into the kitchen. It turns up empty. The closet in the living room also turns up empty. Hopes closet, and all of the hiding places in her room turns up empty.

The sense of panic intensifies, as he makes his way back to Ziva's room.

"Did you find her?" he questions as she looks into her closet.

"No, she's not in here, or the bathroom either."

"She likes to hide?"

"Occasionally."

"Ziva," he swallows hard.

"What?"

"I can't find her. And..."

"And? What do you mean and? Don't say and," she warns, feeling his sense of panic.

"And the window in her room is open."

"I didn't open it."

"Neither did I."

"It locks from the inside. It is too high for her to reach," with each word she grows more frantic.

"Zi, calm down, we'll find her."

"I can't believe this," she admits, racing towards Hope's room.

She stops in the doorway.

"Don't touch anything," he warns.

"This is not a crime scene," she barks.

"Yet," he says, mistakenly.

She turns around, with the look of fury, in her eyes.

"What do you mean, yet?"

"Ziva don't get angry with me. I didn't do this," he reminds her.

Her expression changes. She moves swiftly. He expects her to punch him. She doesn't. Instead she hugs him, tightly. He feels her tears, through his shirt. He pets her head.

"It's ok, we're going to find her."

"How? We don't know how long she's been gone. It's not as if she left on her own. She's a baby. Someone took her."

"We'll find her," he promises.

"You don't know that."

"What do you want to do?"

"Find her."

"Ok."

"Will you call..." she trails off.

"Gibbs?" he finishes.

"Yes," she nods, "I have to call my father."

"Your father? Why?"

"This has him, written all over it."

"Ok," he nods.

She excuses herself, wiping the tears from her eyes. She pulls out her phone, and takes a seat, at the kitchen table. She dials an old number.

"Shalom," she greets, coldly.

"Ziva, why are you calling me? You never call me," he responds.

"You know why."

"No, Ziva, I don't."

"Where is she?"

"Where is who?"

"Don't play games with me. Where is Hope?"

"Hope? Who is Hope? I don't know where she is, or who she is."

"Do not lie to me," she warns.

"I am not. I do not have any idea what you are talking about. Is Hope your dog?"

"No. I do not have a dog."

"A cat?" he guesses.

"No," she shakes her head, in frustration, "She's my daughter."

"Your what?" his tone changes.

"My daughter."

"Daughter? What daughter? Ziva, you don't have a daughter."

"You really don't know," she realizes.

"Know what?"

"About Hope."

"Are you being serious right now?" he questions.

"Yes," she admits.

"You have a daughter?"

"Yes."

"When were you planning on telling me?"

"Never," she reveals.

"When did you have a daughter?"

"May."

"May? May what?"

"May thirty-first is her birthday."

"You had a baby a few months ago? You never mentioned to me that you were pregnant. Who is the father?"

"Not this past may, the year before."

"She's over a year old?"

"Yes."

"When I saw you, why didn't you mention it?"

"I don't have time for this. She's missing, and I need to find her."

"Missing? What do you mean, missing, Ziva?"

"Someone took her. She wasn't in her crib, and the window was open, when I went in, this morning."

"Can I do something, to help?"

"You're not angry?"

"I'm infuriated with you."

"Do the math," Ziva insists.

"I have done the math, Ziva. I have never understood you, or the choices that you make. But, it is your life, and they are your choices.

"Yes, they are."

"Would you like my help?"


	16. Ransom

He walks through the door. He finds his two best agents standing in the kitchen of Ziva's apartment. He sees a look in her eyes, that he's never seen before. His concern grows with each passing second. Before he says anything the nagging feeling at the pit of his stomach, and the look of terror on her face tell him that something is terribly wrong.

"Ziver? What's going on?"

"Gibbs, I need your help," she answers flatly.

"Have you been crying?" he notices her bloodshot eyes.

"Yes," she confirms, too scared to care about how things might look at this particular moment.

"What's going on? Why did you call me over here?" He looks to DiNozzo.

"Have a seat," DiNozzo suggests.

Gibbs pulls out a chair, and takes a seat. Ziva approaches him, but she doesn't take a seat, she chooses to stand next to him.

"I really don't know where to start," she admits.

"Ziva, just tell him."

She swallows hard, "I know that I am not always very good, at letting other people in."

"Ok?"

"And I should trust them, I should trust you."

"Ziva, just get to the point," Gibbs begs.

"I have been keeping something from you, from everyone, for quite some time."

"What's that?" he inquires.

"I have a daughter," she answers.

He stares at her, in utter disbelief. He shakes his head, "A what?"

"A daughter," she replies.

"What do you mean you have a daughter?"

"I have a little girl."

"She lives with her father?" He guesses.

His words cut her like knives, she fidgets, upon hearing his question, "No," she shakes her head.

"Gibbs, she's a baby," DiNozzo explains.

"A baby?" Jethro furrows his brow.

Ziva pulls out a chair, and has a seat, next to Gibbs. She breaks eye contact, and stares at her fingers as they lay on the surface of the table. She rubs her thumb nail, nervously.

"When I got back from Somalia, I knew that something wasn't right. I didn't know what it was. I took a while for me to realize, but... when I came back I was pregnant," she reveals.

"Oh," is all he can manage to get out. He tries to block the thought out the thought of who the father may be. He moves on, after regaining his composure, "How long have you known?" Gibbs turns to Tony.

"I just told him, yesterday," Ziva admits.

"Why are you telling me, now?"

"This morning, when I woke up, she was gone," Ziva answers, unable to fight off the tears.

Tony takes over, "Her bedroom window was open."

"Did you secure the crime scene?"

"Yes. Please, help her."

"I can't do much. I need..."

Ziva makes eye contact, "I can't tell anyone else. Gibbs, you have no idea how hard this has been, for me."

Before he can reply his phone is ringing. He pulls it out of his pocket, and looks at the screen. He furrows his brow, in confusion, and answers.

"Hello?"

"Shalom, agent Gibbs. Have you spoken to my daughter?"

"I'm with her now."

"She told me what happened. She is blaming me."

"If I were her, I might too. Can you really blame her for thinking you might have something to do with her daughter's disappearance, given your track record?"

"No, but I think I can help."

"How?"

"I just got a ransom note."

"From who?"

"It is not a name that I recognize. I sent all of the details to Ziva's email."

"Ok."

"Listen, I already paid the ransom."

"Eli..." Gibbs begins.

"I know that it is the wrong thing to do, but I have my guys tracking down the account holder. I have them securing the drop off location."

"Where are they going to drop her off, at?"

"At O'Dools, Irish coffee house, about two blocks from Ziva's apartment."

"When?"

"In fifteen minutes."

"Ok, we'll be there."

"No, they want Ziva to come alone."

"It is a trap."

"My guys will be there."

"Eli I don't like this," he admits.

"Neither do I, but what choice do we have, right now?"

"Okay," Gibbs agrees, hanging up the phone.

Ziva waits for instruction.

"O'Dools, in fifteen," he tells her.

"What?" she looks at him, in confusion.

"Your father paid the ransom."

"Ransom? Who has her?"

"We'll figure that out. Let's just get her back."

She nods. Heading for the door. Tony follows after her.

"No, you can't go. She has to go, alone."

"I am not going to let her go alone."

"Tony, let her go," he insists.

He nods, and allows Ziva to walk out of the apartment. After a few moments Gibbs continues.

"We'll park down the street, on the opposite side. We'll watch from afar, if anything happens, we'll be there."

"I don't like it."

"Neither do I," Gibbs admits.

"I've never seen her like this."

"So..." Gibbs begins, but is unable to find the words to ask.

Tony answers the question, before it's asked, "Yes."

"Saleem?"

"No," Tony shakes his head.

"But still a nightmare?"

"Yes. Boss, is there any way possible that any of the guys from that camp could have survived?"

"Not that day."

"What if they were already gone?"

"I guess that is possible."

"I have a bad feeling about this one."

"Me too."

"Can we go, now?"

Gibbs nods, in confirmation.


End file.
